


you cut your teeth on the lack of answers

by laikaspeaks



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mostly Fluff, Reunions, babies being sweet I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6674956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laikaspeaks/pseuds/laikaspeaks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yang finally catches up with Blake in the ruins around Beacon and has a few choice words for her ex-partner. Running was always only delaying the inevitable. Drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Body Is A Weapon, Love

"Yang!?"

Blake nearly stumbled over a toppled streetlight, heart trembling at the sight of heaving shoulders, sparks swirling from the other woman's hair. Those soft lilac eyes were red with rage, echoing the blood dripping from a split lip. 

What was she doing here? She shouldn’t be so close to Beacon already!

Her teammate was covered with bruises, and the reason was obvious. The prosthetic she wore was a skeleton prototype, the very first step in creating a limb for long term use. It was all bare metal and wire, battered from the use Yang had put it through. A ring of dead Ursa crumbled one by one, surrounding the blonde with dull sparks of another nature.

"Blake," Yang growled, hands curling into fists. Her metal hand squealed with the movement. 

Blake's heart almost stopped, ingrained panic screaming to life in her chest. The girl who always ran couldn't move as her former teammate advanced, drawing closer and closer. They were eye to eye, and all she could see was crimson and pain. God it seemed like all she would ever see.

Yang was shaking so hard.

Then the red drained from Yang's eyes, the blonde crumpling to her knees with the most wounded, broken sob Blake heard in her life. A strong arm wound around Blake’s waist, the prosthetic dangling at Yang's side like a broken toy. Blake belatedly realized that it was snapped at the shoulder.

"Blake... Blake... Blake..."

Blake's hands curled into Yang's wild mane, too shocked and speechless to do anything but follow that insistent instinct. It went beyond the need to get out of the open square, beyond the old terror that filled her lungs. Yang was crying, and she couldn't move.

"I found you." Yang mumbled into her shirt, then leaned back, letting Blake see her tear streaked face. Perhaps only Blake knew what that cost Yang. "I found you"

 

“You found me.” She found her voice, hands mdropping to grip Yang’s shoulders. She could feel tears stinging in her own eyes. 

“I wasn't going to come, but I couldn't let you leave without knowing that we - that I don't want you to go.” It was surprisingly steady, rehearsed in a way that was utterly unlike Yang. “Please stay. I can't lose you too.”

Before Blake could reply Yang fumbled to her feet, shining eyes downcast. She had never looked so small, and her voice was never so soft. Her hands were fists again, eyes clenching shut, face turned away as if waiting for a blow.

Blake couldn't remember seeing Yang flinch either.

“I won't try to force you. I just wanted… wanted you to know.”

Blake’s every experience told her that now was the time to run. She could still protect Yang from Adam, she could still do the right thing. But she was selfish to the end, and she - she did love Yang. What kind of love she didn't know yet, but she knew she didn't love her enough.

She didn't love her enough to run.

Her hand came up to cup Yang’s cheek, prompting lilac eyes to snap open and lock with hers, and Blake’s stomach twisted. She could scream at herself all she wanted, but there was nothing she could do now. “Y-you should have let me protect you.”

“I don't want it!” Blake didn't need to read Yang’s mind to know that it didn't come out as fierce as Yang intended. 

“But -”

“I don't want it.” Yang said again, just as firmly. Her arm slid around Blake’s waist again, squeezing her in a close, protective embrace. “I don't want to be like - “ she took a deep, steadying breath, “I don't want to be like him. But if the only reason you’re running is to keep me safe, don't.” 

That attempt at a crooked grin was going to be the death of both of them. “You know I can take a hit.”

Yang’s forehead brushed against hers, and Blake’s other hand came up to frame the other side of Yang’s face, as if she could somehow draw her even closer. Even with the dread weighing on her shoulders, she wanted to soak up Yang’s warmth as much as she could. Somehow it banished the chill in her bones, the memory of Yang lying on the ground bloody and broken.

She could feel every day of missed sleep hitting her at once, but Yang’s arm steadied her weak knees. Strong and steady as the sun.

“I’ll come with you.” It felt like defeat. It felt like victory. It was surrender and it was a rallying cry. Blake sniffled and realized there were tears on her cheeks too.

“Good,” Yang took a step back, hand sliding smoothly up Blake’s arm and tangling their fingers together, keeping Blake’s hand to her cheek a moment too long before letting the joined hands fall, “Didn't exactly have a plan for getting back without you.”

Blake sighed, resigning herself to living with fearing for Yang’s life. Why did she always want the reckless ones? 

Yang squeezed her hand, and that watery grin stole her breath away again. “You look like hell.”

“Shut up, Yang.”


	2. About The Bitter Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fall of Vale team RWBY had to make a choice: move on or give up, change or die. They chose to change. For Yang and Weiss, it had to be everything.

Yang flexed her new hand, rubbing her fingertips together and frowning over the dull sensation. Pitted metal barely reflected the dim light from the lantern on the table. There was no illusion of artificial skin to soften the brutal utility of it - even if she wanted that, anything less than her own flesh would peel like the wallpaper in this smoke-stained shithole the second her semblance burned to life. 

There was ornamentation though, the mechanical counterpart of tattoos. Thorns studded with roses curled up her bicep, inlaid wires oxidized green and red. A Schnee snowflake nestled in one of the blossoms, disguised as a blush of white on the petals. The dark flowers on her upper arm were different, etched dark and deep by someone with only a passing idea of what belladonna flowers looked like and a very unsteady hand. 

She couldn’t forget how she pushed Ruby away: _You can do whatever you want. I’m going to lie here._

Then Ruby was gone, and Yang was left confronting the reality of those words. At first she was angry - of course Ruby would leave her too. And then she realized - or more like remembered - if she stayed in that bed she would be safe, and wouldn’t lose any more arms. Instead she would lose her sister, her friends. They would keep fighting, and she would be left behind. Safe. Alone.

The memory of Blake’s hand in hers burned like a brand.

That wasn’t what she wanted, and neither did Weiss, when Yang finally managed to track her down just outside at the last stop before the trans-oceanic to Atlas. It was time for them to track down their wayward leader. Team RWBY wasn’t over just because - just because Blake ran. The door squealed in protest at being opened, and her gaze jerked up to meet Weiss’. “What took you so long! You know Blake is waiting for us right? Is everything ready?” 

“Well I’m sorry if sneaking past Schnee security takes time, Yang!” 

Weiss closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The girl didn’t relax, but then that wasn’t something any of them did often these days. “What about you, did you gather the items on my list?” 

“You know it!” Yang hefted a pair of hefty canvas packs in one hand, canteens rattling against one another. “It wasn’t easy either, but I managed.” 

“This won’t do at all. You can’t just let them make all that _noise,_ Yang.” Weiss bent over the bags, nimble fingers already flying. When she was done the canteens were strapped flat against the outside of the bag, straps wrapped tightly around the rings on the outside. If Yang recognized Blake's favorite knots, she chose not to comment.  

“Well at least one of us knows what we’re doing.”  She teased gently instead. Weiss’ mouth puckered as if Yang had shoved a lemon in her mouth, and she kept fussing with the packs, moving items around more more to her liking. Yang pretended not to notice that the cookware ended up in her pack. “Are you still having second thoughts?” 

Another deep, slow breath, and Weiss smoothed the heavy canvas a final time. “You know I’m not.” 

“Okay,” Yang took up the shears in her metal hand, cupping Weiss’ chin with the other. She could feel the Schnee heiress swallow, those pale blue eyes looking somewhere she couldn’t reach. They were something like friends before that day in Vale. Maybe they could be still, even after the world fell to pieces. She walked around behind Weiss and delicately removed the decorative tiara from her hair, letting white waves cascade down her back. The first snick of the shears made Weiss wince, but as the hair fell away so did the weight on her shoulders.  

“Now for the color.” 

Yang gently - they _were_ still her hands, even if one was metal - worked dye to the roots, rinsed, dried and styled it. Weiss relaxed into the transformation more than Yang expected, and when she turned the other girl to face the mirror Weiss didn’t back down in the face of her new reflection. Weiss’ pale neck was bared, hair trimmed so that the tips just brushed the underside of her jaw. Her hair was now glossy and black, subtly wavy without the weight of her hair to pull it straight. A pale hand came up to her own cheek, her eyes wide. “…Thank you, Yang.” 

“Any time. Jailbreaks are my specialty.” Yang’s reflection winked. “Now turn around, I have to finish your makeup…” 

Weiss Schnee entered that dingy hotel room on the dodgy side of town, a squeaky-clean Type A that walked like she ruled the room. Snow White left, all dark hair and smokey eyes and lips as red as blood, done up in one of Yang’s spare leather jackets and a pair of dark hunting pants. With Yang’s coaching she slouched and glared like a real disreputable vagabond, on rough description so far from Mr. Schnee’s daughter she could be on another planet.

“They’ll never recognize you.” Yang pronounced with a self-satisfied grin. 

They didn’t.


End file.
